


Flyboys

by nagi_schwarz



Series: Comment Fic 2016 [40]
Category: Stargate Atlantis, Stargate SG-1
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-01
Updated: 2016-11-30
Packaged: 2018-07-19 11:11:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,427
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7358851
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nagi_schwarz/pseuds/nagi_schwarz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John Sheppard and Cameron Mitchell over the years.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written for the comment_fic prompt: "Stargate SG1/Stargate Atlantis, Cameron Mitchell/John Sheppard, first kiss."
> 
> John and Cameron in Afghanistan.

When the recommendation for a classified program flying experimental craft crossed Cam's desk, he knew it was a risk, but he said yes anyway, because he had to get away from this base, these walls, the constant reminder of the "miscommunication", what he'd done.  
  
He'd followed orders, and look how that had turned out.  
  
He was sitting on his bunk, staring at the letter, hoping and praying he didn't start crying again. He didn't care if the other guys caught him at it, but he was just so tired, and if he started again, he couldn't stop.  
  
He folded the letter and shoved it into the outer pocket of his duffel. He'd be shipping out soon.  
  
A rumble in his stomach reminded him that he'd missed lunch. Even though the mere thought of food was enough to send him running for the nearest bathroom for more dry heaves, he knew he needed to eat.  
  
In the hallways, he heard the whispers. Sheppard was back.  
  
Holland hadn't come with him.  
  
Cam's heart ached all over again, ached so much he probably ought to be numb. Follow orders, don't follow orders, it was all the same. Screw-ups and unnecessary deaths. He'd been silently gunning for Sheppard to win out, to come back victorious with his best friend at his side. It could've been Cam's vicarious _screw you_ to the universe that had screwed him over for following orders.  
  
Can was almost to the mess hall when the unison march of boots echoed in the corridor. MPs escorting Sheppard, exhausted, dirty, bloody, and broken to the brig.  
  
In the mess hall, Cam tried to keep it himself, but it was crowded enough that he had to share his table, so he could hear all the gossip. Sheppard wasn't saying a thing, refused to talk, was probably going to get busted right back down to private, if not separated from the Air Force completely. Debates raged fierce – the orders were stupid, Sheppard was stupid, leave no man behind, sometimes a guy had to get left behind (whoever said that would probably be on the receiving end of some internal squadron discipline once the lights went out; you had to be sure your guys had your back).  
  
Cam finished his food as quickly as he could and headed to his CO's office to let him know he was ready to go for his new posting whenever they needed him. Said CO, Edwards, was hunched over his desk looking tired.  
  
"Sir?"  
  
"Mitchell, what can I do for you?"  
  
"I can come back later if this is a bad time –"  
  
"No. Just. Sheppard. Not talking. Not eating. Don't know what to do with him."  
  
Can and Sheppard weren't friends, exactly. They'd play basketball sometimes, maybe even go running together. But the heated looks they traded when no one was looking weren't something between friends. "Sir," he said, "I have decent rapport with Sheppard. I can take him some food, get him to open up a little, even if it's not about – what happened."  
  
Edwards smiled. "You're a fine officer, Mitchell. If you think you can get through to him, give it a shot."  
  
"I will, sir." Cam ducked back to the cafeteria for a tray of food. The MPs let him into the cell where they were keeping Sheppard.

"Look," Sheppard said without looking up, "I have nothing to say to any of you, not till my JAG officer gets here."  
  
"You don't have to say anything to me. I just thought you might be hungry."  
  
Sheppard's head came up sharply. "Mitchell."  
  
"Shep." Cam held out the tray.  
  
He stared at it for a moment as if he didn't recognize it, then accepted it. He sank back down on his little cot and began to pick at it with his hands. He must have been hungry after being out there for so long, but he looked like food made him feel the way it made Cam feel.  
  
"I heard what happened," Sheppard said.  
  
"Heard about you too."  
  
"I'm sorry," Sheppard said, and he was probably the only person right this second who knew how Cam felt.  
  
"Me too. For the both of us."  
  
Sheppard snorted. "At least you were following orders."  
  
"Yeah, well, my following orders means I'm shipping out soon. New posting."  
  
Sheppard raised his eyebrows. "A reward?"  
  
Cam remained standing by the door, but he itched to get close, grab Sheppard and shake him and demand to know what he'd been thinking and if they'd switched places would both of them be all right? Or would both of them be in this cell?  
  
"I don't know." Cam shrugged. "Classified."  
  
"I can guess where I'm going," Sheppard said. "Pretty sure it'll look just like this." He gestured at the cinder block walls and the tiny barred window set in the door.  
  
"I hope not," Cam said. "You're a good soldier."  
  
"No, I'm not."  
  
"You're a good man."  
  
Sheppard took a deep breath. "That's debatable."  
  
"Not to me." Because Cam had seen how Sheppard led his men, how he loved them fiercely even if they didn't love him back, not now that his rising star had taken a sharp turn to a fall. "Anyway, enjoy your food. Good luck with your JAG officer."  
  
Sheppard nodded. "Thanks, Mitchell."  
  
"Any time, John."

 

*

  
  
Cam was ready to go join Project Heliotrope (the first and last time anyone would call it that in his hearing) two days later. He was packing the last of his gear when he heard, from some airmen in the doorway, that Sheppard had finally talked to his JAG officer, and he'd been let out of the brig.  
  
Cam was shouldering his duffel bag when he heard the door close.  
  
He turned.  
  
Sheppard stood there, eyes shadowed, in desperate need of a shave.  
  
"They're sending me to McMurdo."  
  
"Isn't that in Antarctica?"  
  
"Obviously it's a punishment."  
  
Cam nodded. "Obviously."  
  
"We're probably never going to see each other again," Sheppard said.  
  
Cam nodded, swallowed hard. "Yeah. I'm sorry about that."  
  
"Me too," Sheppard said, and the conversation felt like deja vu. "I'm sorry about a lot of things. But I refuse to be sorry about this." He crossed the room in a few quick strides, pinned Cam up against the bunk bed frame, and kissed him.  
  
John's kiss tasted like heartbreak and goodbye and regret and a tiny spark of hope and the cheap coffee from the mess hall that was always just a little burnt. Cam kissed him back, because they'd never been friends, but they'd had this burning between them since they first laid eyes on each other.  
  
When it was done, John pulled back, gazed into Cam's eyes for a long moment.  
  
"Good luck, Mitchell. And good hunting, wherever you end up."  
  
He turned and left the room.  
  
Cam watched him go and wondered what he'd have to do to get to Antarctica.  
  
When he finally landed in Antartica, it wasn't to see John, but in the moments before the pain and the cold and the physical trauma took him into the darkness, he remembered that kiss.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written for the comment_fic prompt: "Any, Any, home is in another galaxy."
> 
> John and Cameron in Washington, post-SGA.

When John abdicated his throne as one of the heirs of Sheppard Utilities, one of the many things he was glad to have escaped was high society. As a teenager he'd been forced to endure an endless stream of business dinners, political dinners, charitable dinners, balls (he remembered dancing at cotillions with horror), and the worst of them all...masquerade balls.  
  
How he'd found himself at one now that he was an Air Force officer and supposed to be an entire galaxy away was a mystery for the ages. He wore a simple domino mask and cape over his suit but had combed his hair down so no one had recognized him so far. The fact that he was hiding in a corner near the end of the bar and had been nursing a single drink for half an hour probably had something to do with that.  
  
When the tall, broad-shouldered man in the tabarro mask and dark blue suit slid onto the barstool beside John, time was up. He had to socialize. For the good of the Expedition, of course.  
  
"You don't seem to be enjoying yourself," the man said. He had a pleasant voice, a little rough around the edges, but none of those non-regional accents, like he was an actor. Of course there was an actor at this thing. Washington let in anyone with money these days.  
  
"I miss home," John said, and was surprised at his own candor.  
  
"You far from it?"  
  
"It's practically in another galaxy." John took another sip of his drink to cover his social faux pas. His many nannies and etiquette teachers were spinning in their graves.   
  
"Practically in another galaxy or is actually in another galaxy?" The man arched an eyebrow.  
  
John started, surprised, and then he remembered. The Stargate program had gone public. People knew about Atlantis now. For three days the world had been freaking out, but now John could be honest - mostly - about where he was and what he did.  
  
"Actually in another galaxy," John said.  
  
"I prefer terra firma myself." The man accepted a drink from the bartender and sipped delicately. "I'd be careful about who you say that to, though. Wouldn't want anyone thinking your loyalty was to anywhere but earth. People might suspect you'll run off to that city in the stars and take it over and leave it defenseless."  
  
John's blood ran cold. Was that a threat? A warning? He set down his glass. "You know who I am."  
  
The man raised his hands briefly in a gesture of surrender. "Whoa, easy. Didn't mean to make you all skittish. Just making an observation."  
  
John narrowed his eyes, swept his gaze over the man again. Tall, broad shoulders, narrow waist, lean. Fit in a practical way, not the sculpted, cosmetic way Washington politicos liked to show off. A potential threat. But John had the element of surprise.  
  
He grasped the man's wrist and tugged, yanked him off the bar stool, down the side corridor that led past the kitchens. They passed a masked waiter, whose lips curved in an amused smirk. Whatever. DADT was repealed, punk.  
  
"Hey, if you kill me, someone will come looking for me," the man protested, and then they were out in the cold air.  
  
As soon as they hit the alley behind the hotel, John had the man pinned against a wall, his hands trapped above him with an iron grip. "Who are you? What do you want?"  
  
"Calm down! Dammit, John."  
  
John blinked, but didn't loosen his grip. That tone was familiar. "...Mitchell?"

"Yeah. Ease up."  
  
John peered into blue eyes, and suddenly everything clicked into place. "You – you disguised yourself." He backed up.  
  
Mitchell smoothed his suit down. "It is a masquerade."  
  
"But - you didn't have your stupid little drawl." Adorable little drawl, John meant, but after two decades in service he'd learned to never, ever say that aloud.  
  
"This is Washington. I know what they think of boys like me, with our stupid drawls and earnest faces and eagerness to go out there and die," Mitchell said, and the drawl was back. "Landry insisted I be discrete. I think you kinda blew that for me, though." He straightened his cuffs fastidiously.  
  
John's heart, which had been thumping erratically as soon as he realized what he'd done, skipped a beat at _blew_ and _me_. "Sorry. I –"  
  
"I can't imagine how tough it is, being back here after being out there for so long," Mitchell said softly. "Coming to earth for only a few days or weeks at a time, rarely more frequently than once every six months."  
  
John nodded, them blinked at him. "You notice how often I'm on-world?"  
  
"I said I prefer terra firma," Mitchell said quietly, "but they say home is where the heart is, and some idiot with stupid non-regulation hair and a bad attitude took my heart and ran off to another galaxy, so..."  
  
John sighed, scrubbed a hand over his face, winced when he hit the mask, so he yanked it off and tried again. "Mitchell –"  
  
"I know. One kiss. Years ago. You were upset. I was upset for you. Then we both shipped out. Just...figured with the program going public and DADT being revealed I'd finally get to be truly honest. With someone who understands." Mitchell didn't take off his own mask. Instead he turned to go.  
  
John caught his wrist. "Cam –"  
  
He paused. "Sheppard?"  
  
John reached out, tugged off Cam's mask. "You were upset for me?"  
  
Can shrugged. "Yeah."  
  
John bit his lip. "They're taking the city from me. Can we go be upset together?"  
  
Hope lit in Cam's eyes, and he curled his hand into John's for a brief moment before he nodded. "Yeah. Let's go."


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written for the comment_fic prompt: "Stargate Atlantis/Stargate SG-1, Cameron Mitchell/John Sheppard, they were always headed for heartbreak."

Cam and John were always headed for heartbreak, from that first goodbye kiss in Afghanistan to that first hello kiss in an alley behind an upscale bar on Capitol Hill. Because John’s first love had always been and always would be Atlantis. Even in Afghanistan, the city had been calling to him, whispering in his blood; neither of them had known it.  
  
And then they’d both been pulled into the Stargate Program, and John had been flung halfway across the universe to another galaxy.  
  
John thought he’d been stealthy, sliding out of bed in the small hours of the morning after a night of energetic lovemaking. He’d assumed Cam was asleep, wouldn’t hear him slip on his uniform, wouldn’t notice the sudden absence and lack of warmth in the bed beside him.  
  
He’d assumed Cam wouldn’t miss him.  
  
He hadn’t even kissed Cam goodbye.  
  
There’d been a moment, when Cam thought he might, but then there was a pause, a rustle, a _Yeah, Rodney, be there ASAP_ , and John was gone, leaving silence and emptiness in his wake.  
  
Cam had always known this day would come. Earth and her leaders were insane if they thought they could keep Atlantis from John Sheppard and his team. Cam just hadn’t known when, or how soon. And he’d hoped, foolishly, that John would ask Cam to come with him.  
  
But when the NID and SFs and a whole host of other angry people kicked down his door the next morning, interrogated him in his bedroom while he wore nothing but boxer briefs and his dog tags, he could honestly say he’d had no knowledge of John Sheppard’s plans or ideas or schemes.  
  
And he supposed that that was John’s final kindness.


End file.
